Mutterings & musings from the manically morphing mind of an estrogen deficient, menopausal, modern matriarch.

Saturday, February 12, 2011

"Bridget Jones's Diary: The Senior Years"

Glorious Saturday morning. Following a glorious Friday night.

Both true. To both - NOT.

Daniel's in Orlando. Corey's at work. Kaelin's at a lacrosse retreat.

It's just Toby, Bubbles & me.

Ordinarily, I am used to it, so to speak.

Then, it happened. "Bridget Jones's Diary" is on for the umpteenth time. I am sporadically watching it, likewise, for the umpteenth time. My way of watching a movie usually involves me getting up, leaving the room, getting distracted several times, make tea, back to movie, go outside, go in to get forgotten tea, rearrange plants, go back in, back in bed, watch movie, repeat several times ... exhausting but eventually I do see the whole thing & it works for me ...

This morning, it was different. Something was different.

Oh yes, I took Toby out, freeze - it's 46 degrees this morning - made steamy-steamy tea, movie is on TV & yes, it is before 8am. Well, other than NPR, the tv makes voice sounds which I do miss at times. Even though Vic was quiet, he did speak ...

So back to Bridget & her diary.

There she is. Alone. Overweight. Pouring her heart out on paper. In her jammies. Cups of tea, all over the place. Questioning her life. Singing along to old songs from days of memories past.

Here I am, alone, overweight, pouring my still slightly English-accented heart out to a fluffy dog & a laptop.

This week has been confusing to me. Many things are surfacing. At "Bereavement Group" the subject of how we feel as in (still) married, widowed, single. All of them?

How do other people see me? I have not given the "single" title to myself without laughing but now it is becoming a little more real.

People have been proffering unsolicited advice as to my "situation". Someone even went so far as to tell me that what I really needed (in his opinion) was a booty call!

Huh? Really? Does something show to which I am not oblivious?

So here I am.

"Bridget Jones's Diary. The Senior Years." Twice married. Once divorced. Once widowed. Has children who are growing too fast. Sat on the PTA. Room Mom. She sits alone, usually in her room, in pj's. Overweight. Drinking tea. Reading & watching bad yet distracting bad tv. Still singing along to the same, olde, familiar songs. Pondering her life. The then. The now. The tomorrow.

Is it really time for me to come out of my seclusion? Could I start to see myself gently moving forward, away from the past?

I am quite sure there are lots of Daniel Cleaver's out there. Naughty. Fun. Dangerous. It's the Mark Darcy's that I have always liked: Different. Deep. Distant.

Flip the tv channel to morning news. The uber-happy, morning anchors are discussing a current poll which stated that men do not pay any attention to women over 50 the minute a 20-year old walks in a room.

Wow! I have lived every one of my 53 years & wouldn't want to trade with the 20 year olds ever again.

On the other hand, the guys that do pay attention to the older women (according to the poll) are not the men the 50+ group are remotely interested in!

Why on earth would I want to right out into this new, Catch-22 world!

It would just be nice just to have someone with whom to dance with once in a while, have great laughs & amazing conversations. Oh, I think Anthony Bourdain ("No Reservations") is totally hot so I am not oblivious to appreciating a handsome man & I do like grey/greying/greyish hair so toy boys, stay home with your mama!

No comments:

Post a Comment

About Me

When I was about 7 years of age, I stood in the middle of Robin's Field Primary School's playground on a glorious, cloudless, autumn day in London. Gazing up, a burst of ceruleun sky seared through me. I had been awakened from a deep, protective state of numb.
Future decades jerked me back & forth on the teeter- totter of life. Great ups, miserable downs, nanoseconds of breathtaking joys, infinite hours deep inside pain.
A couple of years ago, I began to hit the mercurial Wall o' Menopause.
True to self, I went at it, head first, in a pool of icy hot sweat, the proverbial sledge hammer.
Spiritually & emotionally, I was drained. Empty. As in "this well was D-R-Y." Of everything.
Time passed & I began waking up again - just like on the playground.
In reality, I must say, I really like this side of 50.
"The best is yet to come ... "